"Thank goodness…" the maid murmured softly as she wiped the cold sweat beading on her forehead. Her thin fingers—marked with small scars from endless household work—trembled as she reached out to touch the princess's forehead. The temperature was now normal, no longer burning hot like a flame that had nearly consumed life from the tiny body of the child who had just turned two years old.
The skin that had been flushed red from a persistent high fever was now pale with a healthy tone, and her breathing had become steady like an infant sleeping soundly on a soft down pillow.
For nearly a full week, the princess had lain unconscious on the soft bed lined with high-quality white silk from the southern provinces of the kingdom. The high fever that had come without clear cause—climbing to a worrying 40 degrees Celsius—had plunged the small mansion on the edge of the forest into tension that seeped into every corner, from the spacious living room to the basement used for storing food and valuables.
Every single hour, her body temperature rose and fell without any pattern that anyone could predict. At times, she would shiver violently from cold despite her body feeling as hot as a freshly forged iron from the smelter's furnace.
The maids worked tirelessly without rest, replacing the wet cloths on her forehead with cooler ones soaked in water from the deep well, sponging her body with cold water drawn from the mansion's rear well—always cool throughout the year—and applying herbal poultices made from roots and leaves of wild plants gathered from the nearby forest before dawn. The mixed scent of bitter roots and sweet flowers filled the room day and night, making it feel like an old apothecary far removed from the luxury and grandeur of the Alaric family mansion.
Royal physicians took turns traveling from the nearest city at the foot of Mount Agnis—a two-hour journey through a wild forest filled with biting creatures and swift rivers that often made the path slippery and dangerous—to reach the Alaric estate.
They arrived in carriages pulled by strong-legged horses with thick black fur, carrying large wooden chests carved with floral and magical creature patterns that held medical tools and remedies they had carefully prepared over days.
They brought herbal brews made from the roots of a rare plant called "Lightroot," which only grows on inaccessible high mountain slopes and can only be harvested on full moon nights when thick mist shrouds the hills. They chanted healing incantations passed down through generations with melodic, confident tones that filled the room with peace and calm. They even used ancient treatment methods rarely employed by younger physicians—such as sprinkling warm chicken blood around the bedposts to ward off evil spirits thought to cause the illness, or placing dried lavender mixed with mint leaves in every corner of the room to purify the air of any negative energy that might be present.
Yet none of them could give a definite answer as to what had caused the sudden, storm-like illness, or why the princess's temperature remained unstable despite every possible effort being made.
Some claimed it was a curse from hidden family enemies in the kingdom who resented the Alaric family's influence as border guardians. Others believed it was a test from the gods for the Alaric family, who had loyally and faithfully served the royal nobility for centuries.
Only one conclusion was agreed upon after the fifth day of treating the princess with every method at their disposal—the child had survived through extraordinary luck and protection that likely came from a source unknown to ordinary humans. No medicine or treatment could explain her sudden, dramatic recovery, as if the fever had come and gone on a whim, ignoring all the efforts made by everyone in the mansion.
On the morning of the sixth day, just as the sun began to rise behind Mount Agnis and bathed the mansion's backyard in beautiful, warm golden light—gently touching every leaf and flower like a caring hand—her body temperature suddenly dropped to 36.5 degrees Celsius and remained stable throughout the following day and night, as if nothing had ever been wrong.
The maid on duty—her eyes red from lack of sleep and her face weary—immediately ran quickly down the long corridor, her footsteps thudding against the wooden floor as she went to tell the main family the good news. Overwhelming joy filled every corner of the mansion, which for a full week had been shrouded in deep worry and sorrow.
For the maids of the Alaric family—whose mansion stood far from the bustle of the city and could only be reached by winding roads—small changes after an illness were not an unusual occurrence. They often saw this in noble children living in the mansion, or even in the maids' own children who had suffered serious illnesses that left them bedridden for days and unable to carry out their usual activities.
Some children became quieter and more shy afterward, fearing the same thing might happen to them or their loved ones. They would spend their time in their rooms playing alone or reading books given to them by their parents or attentive maids.
Others became more active and energetic once they recovered, running freely across the spacious lawn with soft green grass or pestering the maids with endless questions about the outside world they had yet to see firsthand—as if trying to make up for the time lost while they were sick and could do nothing but lie in bed.
But for the princess—Catherine von Alaric, two years old, only daughter of Marquis Morcant von Alaric (Commander of the Border Forces) and Lady Elowen Ravenshade (from a renowned and respected family of mages in the kingdom)—the change felt… different. Very different from anything they had ever seen in children her age.
Since waking from that long sleep that had filled the entire family and staff with fear for her life, she rarely cried or showed overly strong emotions like other children her age.
Even when diarrhea upset her still-tiny stomach or painful new teeth began to grow—usually enough to make children sob uncontrollably and unable to stay still—she would only furrow her brow briefly before returning to quiet calm, staring far away through the large bedroom window that faced the garden and forest behind the mansion. Her gaze would drift toward the dark, mysterious woods as if thinking about something complex and profound—impossible for a child her age who had only just learned to walk steadily.
Her eyes were filled with deep enthusiasm and curiosity—too much for a toddler who would usually only be interested in colorful moving toys or delicious sweet foods.
She would spend hours sitting quietly on the bedroom floor, covered with thick carpets patterned with intricate stars and moons. She would stare at the tablecloth with its complex geometric patterns—made from imported silk from the eastern provinces—or watch how the maids arranged red roses and white lilies in vases with sharp, focused eyes like an adult solving a difficult and important puzzle. It was as if she could read hidden secrets in every carefully woven thread or every beautifully, perfectly opened petal. And what surprised everyone in the mansion who watched her every day the most—
her speech became clear and fluent like an adult who had been talking for years.
It was not just simple words like "mother" or "food" that children her age usually learn to say slowly over a long process. She could speak long sentences with perfect pronunciation and proper intonation to match what she wanted to say, even using words that no two-year-old just learning to communicate could possibly know—such as "crystallization," "geometric symmetry," or "energy balance"—terms usually only used by mages who had studied for years or scholars in the kingdom researching magic and the cosmos.
Sometimes she would even mention names of places that never appeared on the kingdom's maps or technologies that no one in this world had ever discovered—like "flying cities floating above clouds" or "devices that can capture sounds from far away"—leaving those who heard her confused and wondering where this very young child could have learned such absurd and unheard-of things.
"Your Highness…" the maid—Lina, who had cared for Catherine since the day she was born in this same room with loving attention, and who had even learned of Lady Elowen's pregnancy before most royal family members living far away in the capital—whispered in a voice filled with unmistakable doubt and awe as she watched the small eyes open slowly with calm, gentle movements.
Her deep blue eyes—like an ocean never touched by any ship or seen by human eyes—sparkled with a light that had never been there before. It was as if a flame burned strongly and steadily deep within the calm sea, illuminating everything around it and seeming to look far into the heart of anyone who met her gaze.
Her small hand—with soft, clean fingers—reached for the edge of the white silk blanket with perfectly steady and controlled movements, without any of the trembling usually seen in small children still learning to manage their body movements. There were no cries to disturb the peaceful morning calm. No whimpers showing distress or discomfort that might still linger after a serious illness. Not even a hint of hardship on her face that usually appears in children who have just recovered from a life-threatening sickness that left their bodies weak and fragile.
Only a deep, sharp gaze that looked directly into Lina's eyes without hesitation or fear—as if she could see far beyond the bedroom walls adorned with portraits of the Alaric family through generations and the important events they had lived through, beyond the mansion's sturdy walls built from large stones taken from the strong, durable slopes of Mount Agnis, beyond the limits of what ordinary human eyes can see—eyes that only perceive the world in front of them and cannot look any farther.
Behind those beautiful deep blue eyelids—like rare and precious sea gems—a consciousness had awakened. A consciousness that did not belong to the two-year-old child Catherine von Alaric, who had only just begun to know this world. Instead, it belonged to a soul that had experienced life and death in another world, that had felt loneliness, hardship, and simple happiness.
The consciousness of Kazuki Sato—who had found a new path in an unexpected body he had never imagined—was now ready to face everything that lay ahead in this world full of magic and mystery. A world that might give new meaning to his former life, which he had once considered uninteresting and without purpose.